


i’d speak a garden from my lips

by rokudaimesprincess



Category: Naruto
Genre: (eventually it's gonna be a long road lads), Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Series (Naruto), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokudaimesprincess/pseuds/rokudaimesprincess
Summary: (if only you would hear)Manami knew she had a crush on the Jounin Commander. She had accepted that it wasn't going to go away anytime soon, either, just as she had accepted that he would never see her the same way, not least of all because he was married. That was fine. But life doesn't always go along with expectations, and suddenly things get a lot more complicated when she coughs up a flower at a funeral.





	1. sea thrift

**Author's Note:**

> There is a definite lack of Shikaku/OC fics...so here I am. And a Hanahaki AU, because why not?
> 
> Hanahaki will work slightly different than normal here, but most of it will probably be explained in-fic eventually.
> 
> Expect short chapters probably?

The sun shone glaringly bright on the day of Nara Yoshino’s funeral. Most of the people in attendance seemed to agree that she would have approved, as ferociously bright and in-your-face as the woman had always been herself. I stared at the bouquets bunched around the memorial picture—red spider lilies of course, the flowers of the dead—and wished that I was somewhere else.

I hadn’t known Yoshino very well. That didn’t stop me from mourning her death, of course, but it was mourning in a somewhat distant, regretful kind of way that left me feeling out of place among the crowd of people who felt her loss so deeply. Truthfully, I had been surprised to be invited at all, my acquaintanceship with Yoshino had been so passing, but I couldn’t exactly say no. The invitation had come from my boss, the bereaved husband himself, Nara Shikaku. He was someone I respected a great deal, possibly even more than the Hokage, and also one I might have, maybe, had a massive, embarrassing, _guilty_ crush on.

That last detail was a large part of the reason that I felt so wrong, so fake, being here. I’d been nursing this crush on Shikaku, on this dead woman’s husband, almost as far back as the days when I’d first started working directly under him as his assistant. I only really knew Yoshino at all through occasionally running into each other when searching him out for something or other, but it was obvious to me that they loved each other very much, despite the yelling that I often stumbled upon. Especially when Shikamaru came into the picture.

Despite knowing that they were happy and in love, and that Yoshino was a good woman, probably the perfect one to be partner to a man like Shikaku to be honest, I had never actually been able to squash those pesky feelings. Which was why I didn’t belong here, didn’t deserve to be among the people who had loved her so, shouldn’t have come, but—

But Shikaku had asked me to come. He had opened the door to accept the paperwork I hadn’t been able to put on hold for his mourning, little Shikamaru clinging to his neck in his sleep, looking desperately in need of some rest (and a hug) himself. Helpless in the face of his grief to find anything actually meaningful to say, but needing to say _something_ , I’d awkwardly offered my assistance with whatever he needed, not just paperwork. And he had looked at me and simply asked if I would come to the funeral.

And so I came.

No matter how tight my chest felt at just being here.

Shikaku didn’t look any more well-rested now, standing stone-faced at the front and center of the crowd, Yamanaka Inoichi and Akimichi Chouza flanking him on either side. Shikamaru was on his hip again, awake this time but quiet, almost pensive. I wondered how much the toddler actually understood of the situation, if he was reacting to the somber air around him or if it was his own nature. Were three-year-olds normally capable of understanding death? One of the few times I’d actually exchanged more than a few words with Yoshino in the past year, she’d gushed about how smart and thoughtful Shikamaru was for his age and complained about him showing signs of inheriting his father’s laziness nearly in the same breath.

I ached for the years of Shikamaru’s growth that Yoshino would never see, for the hole that I knew this was leaving in the lives of her family. I ached at the reminder that, even in times of peace, there was still and always loss. That was not just a a fact of shinobi life, but a fact of all life.

After the memorial service was concluded, I made my way over to them. There was a line of people giving their condolences, and I could see by the subtle clench in his jaw that despite their good intentions, Shikaku was very ready to leave. Even Shikamaru was starting to get antsy, squirming in his father’s arms. I sidestepped the line and smiled at the little boy instead of greeting Shikaku right away, since he was still busy with someone else.

“Hey there, Shika-chan,” I said. He squinted at me, which was, frankly, much more adorable than it should have been. “A little too bright out to nap, huh?” The answering nod and aggrieved sigh was very grumpy and very much like his father when he thought something was too troublesome to deal with. How could one child possibly be so cute?

(It probably helped having devastatingly attractive parents.)

I pulled an exaggeratedly sympathetic pout onto my face. “Bet you and your dad could both really use a nap, though.”

“I don’t think anyone in the village would take you up on that sucker’s bet,” Shikaku said, having finished speaking with the last person and turned to face me fully.

“Ah, but wouldn’t it be more of a sucker’s bet if I said you’d really _like_ a nap, instead of a nap just being useful? I think a nap is always useful, no matter who you are,” I replied, and then immediately wanted to kick myself for thinking nitpicking would be funny.

Shikaku’s lips pulled briefly into a smirk, though, and instead of worrying about my own dumb attempts at humor I worried about the way they fell back to a serious line far too quickly. It was probably awful of me to want him to act normal this soon, selfish to just want him to be _okay_ when I knew that wasn’t how grief worked, but I couldn’t help it. It was painful just to see his grief. I couldn’t imagine being the one in that position.

“Thanks for coming,” he said before I could word-vomit something stupid into the silence. “Yoshino always liked you. Especially the times you brought the paperwork to me when I was trying to escape it. She always got a laugh out of that.” The last few words were said in an almost nostalgic tone.

I blinked and tried not to let the guilty thought that _Yoshino wouldn’t have liked me so much if she knew about my hopeless crush on her husband_ show on my face. “Of course, Shikaku-sama,” I said instead. “You asked me to.” Wait, too much, could be taken the wrong ( ~~right~~ ) way, time to backtrack— “I wish I’d known her better.”

Not entirely the truth, but not exactly a lie either. It had been painful to be around them together, and I’d often found myself jealous of her, but Yoshino on her own was very nice—she’d had a big personality and hadn’t seemed to mind that I never had much to say. I’d always been more of a listener than a talker; it was what made me suited to being an administrative assistant. Especially to Shikaku, who only listened to people chatting his ear off when it was either particularly important or someone very close to him.

Shikaku gave me another short-lived smile, shifting Shikamaru on his hip. Something tickled at the back of my throat. I cleared my throat lightly, trying to push the sensation back, but it stubbornly remained.

“Well,” I said, coughing shortly and looking up at the sky. It was still very bright out, not a cloud in the sky, but I could see how much time had passed by the angle of the sun. “We’ve all probably kept Shika-chan from his nap long enough, I think. Go on home. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“Not paperwork,” Shikaku said dryly. “And anything else I think I can get myself, since you’re not on the clock right now.”

My face went hot. “Oh, right, of course,” I spluttered. “I just meant—that is.” I cleared my throat, louder this time, and almost choked on something that came up it. I coughed and hacked until whatever it was fell into my hand, which I closed immediately because really, no one needed to see that. I realized that Shikaku’s free hand was on my back. When I looked up at him he raised an eyebrow at me. “Sorry. I’m fine.” My voice was raspy and not nearly as confident as I wanted it to be.

“Troublesome,” he said, shaking his head. “ _I’m_ sorry. I guess what I should have said was _thank you for offering_.”

“Of course,” I said again, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “Um. I’ll bring the more important documents around tomorrow, if that’s okay, Shikaku-sama.” He nodded, and I turned to give another soft, if somewhat strained, smile to Shikamaru. “Goodbye, Shika-chan.”

Shikamaru blinked lazily and waved. Then I was out of there as fast as I could walk without looking like I was running away—which, to be honest, wasn’t very fast at all, shinobi are very good at reading body language. As soon as I was far enough, I opened my palm and looked at the thing that had choked me.

Small, shiny and slick with spit, the slightly crumpled flower stared back up at me. Kunoichi class came back to me then, despite the years since a situation had ever called for less well-known flower identification and meanings. It’s pink petals were similar to cherry blossoms, but I could remember seeing several flowers like this in little globes. Sea thrift, for sympathy.

Ah. It seemed that my stupid, embarrassing, major crush had progressed even further than I’d already realized.

This was...not good.


	2. daffodil

What _was_ a good thing was that I didn’t have any other responsibilities for the day, because after that revelation, I went home and did what I normally did when faced with a crisis that (as of now at least) only effected me: stress ate, stared at the ceiling, and didn’t sleep even after exhausting myself doing absolutely nothing. During that whole time I didn’t have another coughing fit or spit out another flower, but I knew that didn’t mean anything. This was Hanahaki in the early stages, just starting too take root in my lungs, and more would surely come in time. I worried that I could already feel a more consistent tickle forming in the back of my throat.

The next morning I startled awake at the first shrill ring of my alarm clock, slammed it off, and stared at the ceiling some more while waiting for my heart rate to calm back down. My eyes itched and ached and my chest felt even tighter than it had at the funeral. That’s what I got for only being able to force myself to sleep a few hours before I had to be up again, but at least being a ninja meant I wasn’t entirely unused to functioning on little sleep.

Being a ninja meant a lot of things, actually. It meant I wasn’t entirely unused to the idea of my own impending death, either—which was surely where I was headed, there could be no doubt about that. Oh, Hanahaki could linger for months or even years before entering the final, fatal stages, but it was an outcome that could not be avoided. Not in my case. Not with Shikaku, not now, but perhaps not ever, not even if circumstances had been different.

Shinobi I may be, but in love, brave I was not. Besides, a rejected confession would only kill me faster. Best not to risk it.

I forced myself out of bed before I could slip back into another unfulfilling sleep and shuffled into my standard uniform, rather than putting in the effort to put together an outfit from the pieces strewn about my small room. The flak vest never wanted to lie correctly on my short and curvy frame, and I knew that I would be fidgeting with it endlessly all day—I just couldn’t find it in me to care right now. It was otherwise extremely easy and comfortable to wear, which was exactly what I was going for.

Rooftop travel was always good for helping to wake me up, especially so early in the morning when the air was still a bit cool, and for once I was glad that I lived a fair ways from the village administrative building. The distance also gave me time to at least attempt to prepare myself to return to the office and pretend that nothing had changed. It helped that for everyone else, that was true. No one else had seen the sea thrift blossom, and so for now, my illness existed to no one but myself. I wanted to keep it that way, at least for as long as I could.

I slid into the administrative building through a second story window and just narrowly avoided a glitter bomb to the face. A quick, instinctive shunshin all the way down the hall was the only thing that saved me from breathing in any stray glitter particles that might irritate my newly-endangered lungs. After a moment of no further disturbances, I took a breath, straightened (in vain) my flack vest and turned my eyes on the one responsible for my extra wakeup call.

“Good morning, Iruka-kun,” I said calmly, ignoring that the tense line of my shoulders was probably as clear as day. The genin slunk around the corner he’d been peering around (and hadn’t been fast enough to hide behind) with a sheepish expression on his scarred face. “Not quite as creative as your usual pranks, hm?”

“Hi, Manami-san. It’s so early, I thought maybe…less is more?” he offered, scratching the back of his head. I glanced over my shoulder at the mess of glitter that the bomb left behind, which would certainly be a huge pain to clean up, and so probably counted as _more_ anyway. If it had actually gotten me, I would have been finding glitter on my person for days. Iruka laughed nervously, likely following my train of thought.

I sighed. “If you’re not needed by your sensei at this hour, why are you even up? Izanami knows _I’d_ rather be sleeping right now.” It was barely an hour past dawn—on a normal day I likely wouldn’t have even arrived until later, but I’d skipped the parts of my morning routine that took the most time, namely breakfast and appearance-wrangling.

Iruka shrugged, and I frowned at the uncomfortable movement. “Well, start by cleaning up your mess, and then if you don’t have anything else to do, come back to Shikaku-sama’s office,” I told him, quirking up the corners of my lips. “If I’m left alone too long I’m liable to fall asleep at my desk.”

Letting out a huff of laughter at the face Iruka made, more at the idea of cleaning up than being told to come see me afterwards, I left him to it and let myself into my ‘office’. (It was more of a lobby of sorts for Shikaku’s office, with an added desk for me, than an office of my own. But it had its own door and lock due to the often sensitive nature of the documents even I, his administrative assistant, worked with.) As expected, there was a huge, brand new stack of papers in my in-tray to add to the papers already scattered across the desk. They’d need to be skimmed and sorted in order of priority before I could even really get to work on them. I yawned, sighed, and slapped my cheeks a couple times before slumping into my chair.

It was almost unbearably quiet, and I found myself drifting off into my thoughts over and over. Normally I didn’t mind the quiet so much—but then, normally my “quiet” consisted of the sounds of shuffling paper, scratching pens, and soft approving or disapproving or noncommittal hums filtering in from Shikaku’s office, the door to which he normally left open unless in a meeting. _Most often grumbling about troublesome something-or-others_ , I thought fondly, and promptly coughed up my second flower, or from the feel of it, a few loose petals.

I only caught a glimpse of bright yellow before I had to stash it away in my pocket as Iruka knocked and slipped into the room. I glanced out the window and realized that, somehow without my noticing it, almost two hours had passed. “Pull up a chair, Iruka-kun,” I smiled, and for now tried to put all thoughts of flowers out of my mind. “Tell me about what you’ve been up to since I last saw you, before you tried to glitter-bomb me.”

It took a bit more coaxing, but eventually Iruka opened up about his team’s last few missions, a few D-ranks and one C to be proud of, as well as his proclivity for weaving exploding seals into his traps and his forays into making his own tags.

“You’re interested in sealing?” I asked, surprised. I knew several chuunin and jounin who made their own seals, either out of thriftiness or paranoia, but not many genin Iruka’s age even thought of it. If they couldn’t afford exploding tags or storage scrolls, they just didn’t use them.

“Yeah!” Iruka said fervently. “I think that seals are definitely an underutilized component of a shinobi’s toolkit. They’re extremely useful, even if they are expensive.”

“They’re expensive because not enough people understand more than how to make the most basic exploding or storage seals,” I commented. “You want to do more than that?”

Iruka nodded, a determined look settling over his face. “I’m interested in barriers mostly, but there’s so many possibilities with sealing, if I can learn how to do it.”

My eyes flickered to the bottom drawer of my desk, where I kept my personal work when I didn’t take it home with me overnight. Sealing was something that had interested me, too, from very early on in my ninja career. When I was younger, I had taken lessons with one of the village’s few sealmasters. That had stopped after—after the Kyuubi attack, but I continued researching and experimenting on my own.

The smile on my face faltered slightly as I thought about the tokubetsu jounin promotion I had been eyeing for some time, hoping to earn it once I could prove a sufficient mastery over sealing. I was still a long ways away from that level of skill, even with how far I had come, and now my time for that was limited. I was on a clock that was running out, and I couldn’t help but wonder...

What would even be the point of promoting a dying girl?

There was none. A part of me had already given that up as hopeless, and I knew it.

But if nothing else, the dying girl could pass on what she knew, right?

I forced my lips back into a grin and turned back to the genin before me. “Well, Iruka-kun, you’ve come to the right place.”

After a surprised Iruka stopped peppering me with questions and we briefly went over what he already knew, I sent him away with plans to meet up another time for our first lesson, and forced myself to concentrate. Despite a few hiccups with my focus being interrupted by people stopping by, especially when those people had more paperwork to give me, by a little after noon I managed to square away the highest priority things that I would need to bring to Shikaku. I tidied up my desk as much as I could, locked up the office, and left out the same window I came in. The lack of glitter in the hallways was rather impressive, even if it had taken poor Iruka over an hour to clean. Glitter was nothing if not stubborn and clingy.

I stopped only once on my way and otherwise made good time to the gates of the Nara compound, where the guards waved me through without pause. I’d been here often enough for them to recognize me, and Shikaku had issued me what amounted to a standing invitation, even if it was understood to only be for work related purposes. When Shikaku opened the door to his house with an exaggerated sigh, I held up the bags of takeout I’d gotten.

“I come bearing bribes,” I said brightly, “so I hope you and Shikamaru-chan haven’t had lunch yet.”

He didn’t answer that directly, but the way that he stepped aside to let me in with only minimal complaining did. I bit down on a smile as I passed him and set my burdens down on the table of the dining room. “I got extra food because I figure leftovers are always good,” I told him as I unpacked the bags, and then turned with the stack of papers in hand. “And I sorted these as best I could, but they’re all pretty high priority so at this point what you do first is up to your discretion, Shikaku-sama. I’ll be back before the end of the day to pick up whatever you’ve finished.”

Shikaku raised an eyebrow. “You brought lunch and you’re not going to stay to eat with us?”

“Uh.” I blinked. “I don’t want to intrude...”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something I couldn’t hear under his breath. “Sit, you troublesome woman,” he said, taking the stack and disappearing with it. After a moment’s hesitation, I perched awkwardly on the chair closest to me.

Shikamaru wandered into the room a moment later, mumbling a sleepy hello as he clambered onto his own chair. I smiled at him and resisted the urge to fiddle some more with my vest. “Can I have g’oza?” he asked, his head tilted to the side.

Oh my god. _Do not coo nonsense at your boss’s kid when he’s just in another room, Manami, do not do it_. “Of course, Shika-chan.” Shikaku returned as I finished putting together a plate for Shikamaru. He proceeded to stare me down until I finally started fixing a plate for myself.

Lunch with Shikaku and Shikamaru was quiet, but nice. I ate slowly, chewing and swallowing carefully so as not to risk agitating the constant tickle at the back of my mouth. A few comments from Shikaku made it clear that he had noticed I wasn’t functioning at a hundred percent, but to my eternal gratitude he didn’t push. Instead he asked about my family, to which I complained about how my younger brother and sister still couldn’t get along for even five minutes despite being seventeen and nineteen year old chuunin respectively. This got matching ‘ _sounds_ _troublesome’_ s out of the Nara clan head and his mini-me that brought me ever-so-close to choking on my own spit and (increasingly inconvenient, and it was only day two!) flowers.

After we were all finished, I helped pack away the leftovers and ignored the aggrieved sigh Shikaku let out when I thanked him for having me. Before I could leave, Shikamaru tugged at my hand, and I followed indulgently as he led me out the back door and onto the engawa. Several pillows and blankets had been piled into what looked like a nest in a prime patch of sunlight. He stopped before the nest and looked at me expectantly. “Do you…want me to tuck you in?” I asked, unsure of what he was looking for.

He shook his head. “You can nap with me,” he said, sounding far too magnanimous for a three-year-old.

I stifled a laugh. “Oh, Shika-chan, I’d love to, but I should be getting back to work—“

“That’s not necessary.” I did _not_ jump at the interjection from my boss and I _definitely_ didn’t flush at how he was leaning against the door back into the house with his arms crossed in a way that made his muscles stand out because I was a perfectly capable shinobi, dammit.

“Shikaku-sama?”

“You look even more tired than I feel—and that’s saying something, because I’m _very_ tired,” Shikaku said wryly. “Your extended lunch break is approved. Take a nap, Manami-kun.”

Long petals crowded the back of my throat; I didn’t speak, didn’t dare breathe for fear of choking and revealing them. I could only nod and wait for him to leave before turning away from Shikamaru and hacking up the flower as quietly as I could. I stuffed it—a whole daffodil, Izanami _wept_ —into my pocket with the other petals in a sleight of hand trick that Shikamaru thankfully wouldn’t be able to notice at this age.

“Well, Shika-chan, it looks like we can nap together after all!” I rasped, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get comfortable, yeah?”

I ended up shedding my flak vest and leaning back against a mound of pillows with Shikamaru sprawled across my lap. He’d shoved his head into my hand and drifted off almost immediately after I obliged his unspoken request and started running my fingers through his messy hair. It was funny how demanding he was being for a little Nara child, though, if I thought about it, that might be Yoshino’s influence. I bit my lip and shook off the specter of the Nara matriarch—I was far too tired to further attempt to deal with those conflicting feelings. Especially when trapped by a sleeping toddler.

I wasn’t too far from passing out myself, so utterly exhausted by just about everything that was going on in my life now, but I couldn’t help my thoughts wandering back to daffodils. Daffodils for respect, regard, and unrequited love. Daffodils and sea thrift and whatever flowers were sure to come next, because hanahaki rarely stuck with one kind for long.

As I fell asleep I distantly hoped the next ones were as small as the sea thrift had been, instead of large like the daffodils. If I had too many whole flowers of that size climbing up my windpipe this early on, I’d likely be dead far sooner than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for Manami to be pursuing sealing when I first conceptualized this fic, but what I didn't plan for? Iruka. He just walked into the chapter and Manami was like "this child, I will teach him." Which is great, because I love the sealing master Iruka headcanon, but how did this happen??


	3. freesia

I woke up very suddenly and very, very disoriented. My head was groggy and pounding, and I fought the urge to tense up and potentially give away my waking. According to my internal clock, it was sometime in the evening. I was still in Konoha, I could tell, but not in my little apartment or my room at my parents’ house—likely the reason I’d woken up so suddenly, though how I could have been sleeping so deeply in an unfamiliar place, even in my home village, was baffling. Even long-time paper-nin like me very rarely were able to do so.

“You’re in the Nara compound still,” came Shikaku’s voice from off to the side, and oh, now it made sense. “It’s about seven. I came out to see if you were staying for dinner too.”

There was good humor in his tone, but I scrambled to my feet ungracefully anyway, babbling apologies. “Shikaku-sama, I, I’m so sorry for overstaying my welcome.” I rubbed the grit out of my eyes and took stock of myself. The high tail I had gathered my hair into that morning was completely unsalvageable, my clothes were wrinkled beyond all hope, and was that drool in the corner of my lips? _How_ was that even possible, my mouth felt drier than the deserts surrounding Suna! I wiped it away, face steadily heating at looking so messy and unprofessional in front of him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Shikamaru insisted I let you sleep,” he said casually, and even if I had been inclined to believe that, the amused glint in his eye would have made me reconsider. He sighed at my deadpan stare. “Troublesome. Shikamaru told me you didn’t wake up even when he got up, so I figured you needed the rest.”

 _Oh, Amaterasu strike me down_. That was just shameful for a grown kunoichi, even if I _was_ exhausted. To hide my embarrassment, I wrenched the elastic out of my hair and ran my fingers through the messy locks, conveniently obscuring his view of my face. “And if you’d overstayed your welcome, I would have said so,” he added.

“Still, I should have been back in the office hours ago,” I said. I shoved my flak jacket back on and cursed quietly when the zipper caught on my shirt. He was all but outright laughing at me by now.

I should have been annoyed, but—wasn’t this what I had wished for just yesterday? I had no illusions that he was in any way _okay_ , that the grieving period was magically over, I knew better than that. Even if I hadn’t, he still looked tired underneath all that good humor. But that the humor was there at all, that it was lasting so long, it was _good_.

I swallowed down the petals that threatened to crowd my throat again and thought shamefully that I should be avoiding the object of my affections and the source of my illness, not lingering in his home ruminating on how much I wanted—wanted a lot of things, really. Only a few of them appropriate to want from a man who was both my boss and a fresh widower.

(The swallowed flowers settled like lead weights in my stomach. Really, maybe I deserved this.)

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay? You’re already here,” Shikaku asked as he followed me leisurely on my way to the front door. “We’ll probably just have the leftovers from earlier anyway.”

“Thank you for offering, Shikaku-sama, but I really do need to get back to work. Besides, I’m not very hungry right now,” I said, pulling on a bright smile. Shikaku didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t call me out on it either. “Do you have anything for me to take back?”

He produced a stack of papers from his flack vest that looked almost as large as the one I’d brought in the first place. My eyebrows inched up; I certainly hadn’t expected him to work so fast in only an afternoon. Well, I wasn’t going to pry, so I simply thanked him as I accepted the stack. “The same tomorrow?” I asked.

Shikaku was too good of a ninja to show it when he didn’t want to, but I still got the feeling that something in him slumped at the question. Like the spark of amusement in his dark eyes had flattened out, as ridiculous as that would sound out loud. I frowned. “Shikaku-sama?”

“No, Manami-kun, I should probably be back in the office tomorrow,” he replied, and in his tone I found once again the tired, tense man from the funeral yesterday. He rubbed at his jaw with one hand, seeming for all the world like gravity itself was dragging him down. “The Hokage has been...understanding, but mostly because he knows that while I may be the official head of the Nara, Yoshino was the one to take care of most of the day to day business of running the clan. I’ve been arranging for things to be delegated as much as possible, and while there are still things that are my responsibility, the village needs its Jounin Commander too.”

I couldn’t imagine that kind of responsibility, that kind of burden, resting on my shoulders. Twice over, even, between village and clan. Biting my lip, I hugged the stack of papers close to my chest. “I may not be able to help with clan matters, but anything else I can do, please let me know.” When it looked like he might brush me off, I added, with a wry smile, “Assisting you is sort of my job, you know.”

A short, heavy chuckle slipped out of his mouth. “I guess it is, isn’t it,” he said. I took that as my cue to leave, asking him to bid Shikamaru goodnight for me as well before turning and heading out of the compound. There was a lot of work left to do, and as little as I looked forward to doing it, it would likely be better than staring at my ceiling and wasting the night not sleeping again.

And if I spat up a few freesia petals into a tissue three hours in, well, I was still a ninja. No one was any the wiser there than in the privacy of my own home.

True to his word, the next day Shikaku shuffled in only about half an hour after I had, groaning at the sight of the veritable mountain of papers on my desk. I couldn’t help laughing behind my hand at his reaction. We both knew that if it crossed my desk, it would end up on his, after all. There was an exchange of quiet good mornings before we set about our own tasks.

I still wasn’t quite as well-rested as I would like, but this was familiar, this was _comfortable_. Even with the addition of my illness, which seemed to be no more than a minor inconvenience so far, it was something of a relief to return to routine. I caught myself humming more than once, some song I’d heard on the radio ages ago that looped over and over in my brain whenever I was reminded of it.

Which was a little embarrassing, because no matter how quiet I was I just knew that Shikaku could hear me through the open door into his office, but it didn’t seem to bother him. There were a few times where I looked up and caught him smiling slightly at his desk. I absolutely knew it was not because he was enjoying his paperwork.

Though, come to think of it, it might have been because I wasn’t humming particularly _well_. I enjoyed music very much, but I was not practiced enough to hit all the right notes while not paying very much attention or getting very loud.

Well. Maybe that was more than a _little_ embarrassing. At least Shikaku was smiling at all.

In the late afternoon, Shikaku was called to the Hokage’s office, and apparently the topic of the meeting was sufficiently official and important in equal measure, because he brought me along. Although he didn’t seem to know what that topic actually was, either, and so I was only able to bring a pen and notepad, instead of being able to grab relevant notes and files like I usually would for a scheduled meeting.

It was not ideal. Being in the presence of the Hokage made me nervous on a good day, when I had advance notice of the meeting and had time to prepare. It wasn’t really that he’d probably be able to kill me with his pinky finger no matter what age he was—I knew my abilities, and I lived in a village with a great many ninja more powerful and deadly than I. It was just a fact of life. Shikaku himself would be able to kill me without straightening out of his customary lazy slouch or taking a step in my direction. I still trusted in my safety in his presence, and in the village as a whole.

No, the Hokage made me nervous because despite his sometimes grandfatherly facade, every time I saw him I felt inexplicably scrutinized. It was an uncomfortable, anxiety-inducing feeling. Especially coming from the leader of the village. I never missed Namikaze Minato more than when in the Sandaime’s presence, for all that I had only really known the man in passing.

When we arrived at the Hokage’s office, we were greeted by the strong scent of tobacco, though the old man’s pipe was nowhere in sight. His own aide stood beside the desk, face unreadable to an extent I was never quite able to match.

I knew already that this meeting was not going to be pleasant. The Hokage made me nervous, but his aide, Daisuke, I disliked with a quiet intensity. Oh he was technically friendly enough outside of official, serious business, but something about it had always struck me as disingenuous, even before he proved himself smarter, more skilled, more organized, and all around more put together than me. I despised even just being in the same room as him during business hours.

And here we were. Lovely.

“Hokage-sama,” I murmured along with Shikaku in greeting, dipping into a shallow bow while my boss simply nodded his head. The Hokage surveyed us over the tips of his fingers, which were pressed together in a thoughtful position. I had to make an effort to meet his gaze before looking down respectfully.

Despite years of service, I often found myself tripped up by the rules of eye contact, which were more complicated in shinobi circles than civilian. Just another reason I would never be an infiltrator. At least I wasn’t expected to be. I was just here to take notes and help Shikaku in whatever capacity I was capable of.

“This information will not be released to the public for another few days,” the Hokage said. He sounded very serious, but not exactly grave. Maybe I didn’t have to brace myself for bad news? “We have received a message from another village accepting our proposal of peace talks. The ambassadors wish to convene here at the end of the year.”

It was already the end of October. I started scribbling into my notepad.

“I do not need to tell you that this meeting is vital to Konohagakure. I want you to organize the security yourself, in coordination with the head of ANBU.” Here, he nodded to the side, and I twitched as a boar-masked ANBU basically materialized in the corner of the office. Had he been standing their the whole time under a jutsu, or had he been somewhere else before the Hokage mentioned him? “As well as a public guard detail and ANBU watchers, I want security tightened around Fire Country’s borders and the village walls.”

Shikaku and Boar nodded, though Shikaku looked a bit grieved at the thought of all that work. The Hokage went on about his expectations and when he wanted to start seeing result by—which was very soon, incidentally. The rustling of my notepad as I turned a page sounded far too loud to my ears, and I swallowed down the irrational urge to apologize for disrupting since the Hokage hadn’t actually stopped speaking. I caught Daisuke looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

Great. Judgement from a man who wasn’t actually even doing anything right now, since the Hokage hadn’t needed any files and surely all the necessary notes had already been taken. What was he even doing in here with us, surely there were plenty of other things to take up the attention of the Hokage’s aide?

Izanami knew there was more than enough waiting for me back at my own desk.

“Hokage-sama, which village are we treating with?” Shikaku asked at last, scratching his cheek. I was surprised as well that he hadn’t yet said. It couldn’t be Iwa, as an official armistice with them had been what ended the war almost five years ago now. Probably not Kiri, since intelligence reports suggested it was having internal difficulties right now, though that didn’t rule them out entirely—

“Kumogakure.”

My pen stilled. I had to tighten my grip on it to keep my hands from shaking.

Shikaku hummed and nodded. The two of us were dismissed shortly after, with the directive to begin the task as soon as possible. Boar had already disappeared at some point, and Daisuke followed us out of the office before peeling off in a different direction. For once, I barely even noticed what he was doing.

I was silent and pensive as we made our way back to Shikaku’s office. It wasn’t exactly very far from the Hokage’s, but Shikaku set an ambling pace and I forced myself to match it despite the temptation to power walk to the safety of my own desk. I could feel Shikaku eyeing me the whole way. Of course he’d notice. I’d been relatively subtle, but that didn’t mean much before someone with Shikaku’s skills—nor the Hokage, ANBU commander, or probably even fucking Daisuke. At least they’d probably dismissed whatever observations they’d made as inconsequential.

Shikaku hadn’t said anything yet, but I was sure he would eventually. No matter his outward attitude towards work and anything troublesome, once he had something on his mind, one would be hard pressed to get him to let it go before he had it completely figured out.

I dropped heavily into my chair as soon as we made it back, and was pretty unsurprised when Shikaku didn’t immediately move to his own desk. His hands were shoved leisurely into his pockets as he observed me like a mildly intriguing puzzle. I chugged some water from the canteen at the corner of my desk and ignored both the literal and metaphorical lump in my throat.

“Should I pull the current security plans?” I asked tiredly.

“Later, yeah,” Shikaku shrugged. “You don’t sound excited for the talks.”

“Are _you_ excited by this amount of work?” I shot back. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I sighed, dropping my head into my hands.

“What is it about Kumo in particular?” Shikaku said. “Iwa was one of the main combatants in the war, and we’ve had a peace treaty with them for years now.”

“I don’t have to _go_ to Iwa, and I definitely haven’t had to deal with a contingent of Iwa nin in my own village,” I said, voice muffled as I spoke into the darkness of my palms. I looked up at him. “Why are we letting them into the village? Why can’t the talks happen in neutral territory?”

Shikaku hummed thoughtfully. “In neutral territory, we’re less in control. Here, we can tighten up security as much as we want, and we have the advantage of outnumbering them no matter how many shinobi they bring. We can show off our prosperity as well.”

“On the other hand,” I said, “even if we outnumber them, we are letting them into the heart of our home, and it is still an opportunity for them to cause damage before being neutralized.”

“It’s a balancing act,” he acknowledged. He leaned forward. “But I don’t think that’s all of your reasoning. Your problem is with Kumo itself.”

“You know their reputation for stealing. Secrets, people—they tried to kidnap Kushina-senpai years ago, and they…” I trailed off, then forced myself to go on. “After I made chuunin, my squad leader for most of the war was Hyuuga Hiroto. On a patrol mission, we engaged with some Kumo shinobi that had made it past the front lines. At least two of them were jounin. They knocked Hiroto out and ran off with him.” I took a deep breath. “We defeated their teammates and tried to pursue, but we didn’t find them for days. He looked awful, like they’d tried torture him for information. I guess they decided to cut their losses, because as soon as we got there one of the jounin slit his throat and tried to take his eyes only. Except Hiroto was a branch member Hyuuga, and his Byakugan was destroyed the moment he died.”

Shikaku actually looked surprised at that. “How?”

“A seal. As far as I know it’s only put in branch members, because it goes above the eyes and the main house members never cover their foreheads, but I don’t know why,” I said, shaking my head. “Hiroto didn’t talk about it. It might have been a clan secret, or he might have just considered it private. But I saw it once before his death, and after it was gone.”

There was a moment of silence as we both pondered that. I sighed again, coughed to dislodge a petal from my throat. I hadn’t talked about this since reporting in to the Hokage afterwards. “We barely made it out alive, and we couldn’t—we couldn’t take Hiroto’s body with us. One of my teammates set it on fire as we were escaping so that no one could search him. The jounin probably went back to Kumo, though there’s no way to tell if they survived the war.”

Shikaku set his hand on my shoulder. I clenched my fists against my thighs and very carefully didn’t think about anything.

“We’ll be careful,” he told me quietly. “We’ll be thorough, and we’ll be prepared.”

“Yeah,” I said.

And we got back to work.

 _(Freesia for friendship_ , I thought later as I looked at Shikaku, bent over his desk. _Freesia for trust_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manami's war story, just like Iruka, came completely out of left field in the middle of writing the chapter. I wasn't expecting her to have any kind of tragedy in her past since there's plenty of material to angst over just in her present, but c'est la vie. No one survives war unscathed, and Manami was a teen for most of if not the entirety of the Third Shinobi World War. (Incidentally, she's about six and a half years younger than Shikaku, putting her at 22 years old during the current events of the story.)
> 
> Also, I decided that the village is mostly unaware of the Hyuuga's Caged Bird seals, because even with the excuse of 'clan matters' I don't think that shit would fly with anyone outside of the older (more ruthless) generation. And Shikaku is a genius, but if no one talks about it, it's hard to get the hints necessary to figure it out.


End file.
